"Your Valentine has come home" (1043 words)

  

This old story relates to the mid-nineties 

I was learning DTP at a small private institute because I couldn’t afford college. My mother worked as an ayah at a private clinic. Every day while she was at work, I spent my afternoons at the nearby government library, reading newspapers and magazines, especially the job vacancy pages.

One afternoon, while scanning the employment supplement, a soft shadow passed beside me. I looked up and saw a young girl, about eighteen, pausing at my table before moving to the next one. She was beautiful in a quiet, gentle way, with a small nose, elegant features, and eyes that seemed to carry both hope and worry. Her salwar suit was worn and faded, a sign of her poor circumstances. She had no book in her hands and appeared restless, as though waiting for something.

I went back to reading, but soon noticed her glancing at me. When our eyes met, she looked away. After this happened a few times, I smiled and gently asked if she wanted to say something.

“Sorry, sir,” she said softly. “I’m actually waiting for the supplement you’re holding. When you’re finished, could you please give it to me before others take it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I said, handing her the paper. “Please, take it.”

She smiled, and said, “Thank you. Someone told me there was an advertisement I should see today.”

As she walked back to her seat, I noticed her long hair, neatly braided, falling almost to her hips. She moved with a quiet grace. Though I had no real interest, I picked up an astrology magazine and pretended to read, stealing glances at her now and then. I noticed she did the same.

After about half an hour, she returned the paper, paused at my table for a moment, and then left.

That night, as I lay on my bed dreaming of my future, a steady job, a stable life, her face kept appearing before my eyes. I turned restlessly, cursing myself for not asking her name, where she lived, or if she came to the library every day.

The next day, I went to the library wearing my best T-shirt and jeans. My heart sank when I didn’t see her. I took a few newspapers and sat at the same desk, hoping she would come.

About thirty minutes later, she arrived in a hurry. I saw hope in her eyes as she scanned the room, and then they rested on me. I smiled and pointed to the empty chair opposite.

When she sat down, I said, “I’m Selva. I’m learning DTP and live near the Pillaiyar temple in the next street. I come here every day. I was lucky to meet you yesterday. What’s your name?”

“I’m Akila,” she replied softly.

When I asked what she did, she said, “I stopped school after Class 11. I’m preparing for the typing examination.”

“Why didn’t you complete Class 12?” I asked gently.

“I have no parents,” she said. “I live with my uncle near the flour mill. He’s kind, but he can’t afford my fees. My aunt asked me to stop studying and look for a job. I know typing.”

 “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I hope you get a job soon. I’ll collect the job supplements every day and keep them ready for you.”

From that day on, we met almost daily at the library, except on Sundays. Slowly, without realising it, we became close to each other. We talked about our dreams, our fears, and our hopes for the future.

When her eighteenth birthday came, I wanted to give her a small gift, but she refused. “My aunt watches me closely,” she said. “If she sees anything new, she’ll ask questions and stop me from coming here or attending typing classes.”

Still, our bond deepened. We didn’t need gifts; our conversations, smiles, and shared silence were enough.

One day, I noticed her eyes were swollen, her face pale and sad. She tried to hide it, but I asked what was wrong. After some hesitation, she said, “My uncle has decided to move back to his village near Salem this Friday. We can’t afford to live here anymore. I don’t want to leave Chennai. I want to stay here permanently.” Her voice broke. “I feel like crying all the time.”

I was shocked. I held her hand and said, “Don’t worry, Akila. We’ll find a way. We still have three days.”

Then, in a trembling voice, she said, “Selva… I’m shy to tell you this. Please find a way to keep me with you.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’m in love with you too.”

That night, I spoke to my mother. She listened quietly and then said, “I’ll speak to the clinic owner. They’ve been looking for a receptionist and a record assistant. Akila can stay with us until we arrange something at the clinic. Don’t lose hope.”

I was overjoyed.

Two days later, my mother said, “The clinic owner has agreed to employ her and provide accommodation. Let’s go speak to her uncle tomorrow.”

I barely slept that night.

The next morning, we went to Akila’s house near the flour mill. An elderly woman pointed to a locked door and said, “The poor girl cried for two days. Her aunt kept her locked, fearing she might run away. They left very early this morning.”

My heart shattered.

My mother held me as tears flowed uncontrollably. “Don’t cry,” she said softly. “We tried our best. Maybe she’ll write to you someday.”

As we walked back home, defeated and heartbroken, we heard the flower seller near the temple tell someone, “They’ve come.”

We turned.

Akila was running toward us.

 She fell at my mother’s feet, sobbing uncontrollably. “I escaped at the bus stand just before the bus left. My uncle wanted to chase me, but my aunt pulled him inside. I have no one now, only you and Selva.”

My mother lifted her gently and said, “Don’t worry, child. We were just coming back from your house. Everything is arranged.”

Then she turned to me with a smile. “Selva, your Valentine has come home.”

Akila stepped inside our house with her right foot, and with that single step, she walked into my life forever.

 

The Right Choice (845 words)

Meera’s two-wheeler had stubbornly refused to start that morning despite her repeated attempts. As she had to rush to be at the office by 10 am for an important meeting, she ran to the bus stop. Autos fully occupied passed by at high speed, with her anxiety growing by the minute. Not one three-wheeler stopped.

The sky was cloudy and slightly dark with the possibility of rain. Reluctantly, she boarded the bus as anything was better than being drenched.

There was barely room to stand. Men stood around her on all sides, their bodies close, their breath heavy. The smell was oppressive, but she had no choice. She clutched her bag to her chest and tried to shrink into herself.

“Where to?” the conductor barked.

She told him her stop. He tore a four-rupee ticket and shoved it into her hand.

She extended a fifty-rupee note. “I’m sorry, I don’t have change.”

His voice turned sharp. “No change. Give exact amount or get down.”

“I only have one two-rupee coin,” she said, her voice soft with desperation. “You can pay me the balance when I get down.”

Without a second thought, he whistled for the bus to stop. “Return the ticket and get down quickly.”

“It’s drizzling outside,” she pleaded. “Please don’t throw me out. Just help me.” She looked around and saw the other passengers watching her with curiosity, with an air of indifference.

Before she could say more, a gentle but firm voice rose from a nearby seat. “How can you do that?” an elderly man with a prominent beak-shaped nose said. “Can’t you see it’s drizzling heavily? Here, take this.” He held out a five-rupee coin. “

The conductor muttered something indecent and thrust a one-rupee into the man’s hand.

Meera stood frozen and surprised. It had all happened so quickly. “Sir, I don’t have the change,” she said, flustered. “Please take this fifty-rupee note. I will collect the balance later whenever we meet.”

He smiled softly. “Never mind. Four rupees is not a big amount. Are we not human beings? Don’t we have sisters and daughters like you? Let it be.”

He got up at the very next stop to get down. His shirt was worn, his chappals cheap, his face stubbled, but to Meera, he looked, though poor, like the kindest man she had ever seen.  His face stood permanently etched in her heart.

Two months later, Meera’s father called her.

“Meera, are you free today? I’m going to the orphanage. The manager has resigned, and we need to appoint someone new immediately. Will you come with me and help in the selection?”

She agreed immediately.

The orphanage was her father’s life’s work, a sanctuary for destitute and lost children who had nothing but hope. They were given shelter, food, education, and a chance at a future through vocational training. Her father wanted someone capable of handling the big responsibility.

As the interviews began, candidates came and went, some experienced but demanding higher compensation, some inexperienced but eager for money, some simply uninterested in the social work or the children themselves. Meera’s father had asked her to rate each one.

Then the last candidate walked in. Meera’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him.

The same beak-shaped nose. The same stubbled face. She was sure it was him. The man from the bus.

He stood respectfully, unaware of the recognition by her. She asked him gently to sit.

Her father studied his résumé. “You have no experience managing an institution. You’ve worked only as a clerk in a small store. Why do you think you’re suitable for this job?”

The man paused, then spoke quietly. “It’s true, sir. I have no experience. But I have many children. I know what it means to care for them. I will love these boys and girls as my own. I may lack qualifications and experience, but I promise sincerity and dedication. I need this job badly for running my household, but more than that, I want to serve.”

Her father nodded unsurely. “We’ll let you know in half an hour. Please wait.”

After he left, Meera turned to her father. “Appa, I know who I want.”

“Who?” he asked.

“The last gentleman.”

Her father looked aghast. “What? He has no experience. No managerial background. I’ve already crossed his name.”

“Appa,” she said softly, “experience can be gained. But compassion cannot. It is inherent. These children don’t just need an administrator; they need a kind heart. All the others came looking for a job. This person came to serve.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “How do you know he has compassion? Are you trusting mere words?”

Meera smiled and told him about the bus, the rain, the rude conductor, indifferent passengers and the kind stranger who paid her fare without expecting anything in return.

Her father fell silent.

That afternoon, the man was appointed, not just as the manager, but as administrator at a salary higher than originally planned.

A thousand words will not leave as deep an impression as one good deed

 

 

The Mysterious Brass Compass (1030 words)

  

 Ramiah, a wealthy brass merchant in Kumbakonam, lived in a spacious bungalow set on a vast plot of land in the outskirts. He lived a peaceful life with his wife and two sons.

Once, during a pilgrimage to Benares, he visited an antique shop and noticed a beautifully crafted circular brass compass with a needle at its centre.

“Ah, that’s a fine piece,” Ramiah said, lifting it carefully. “How much does it cost?”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “Sir, it’s defective. The needle does not point north or south. It’s of no use.”

Ramiah examined it closely. “Defective or not, it’s beautiful. I’ll take it.”

The shopkeeper smiled. “Very well, sir. Since you’ve purchased so much already, you may have it free.”

Back home, Ramiah placed the compass on his table in his room at the shop as a decorative piece. The needle constantly oscillated and never settled in the proper direction. One day, a woman who had earlier purchased a vessel and had visited his room returned, distressed.

“Sir,” she said anxiously, “I think I lost the tiny screw from my diamond earring here. It must have fallen on the floor.”

“Don’t worry,” Ramiah replied kindly. “We’ll search for it.”

They searched the floor and the surrounding area thoroughly, but the screw could not be found.

Just then, Ramiah noticed something unusual. “Strange… the needle has stopped,” he murmured. “Look, it’s pointing toward the almirah.”

They moved the wooden almirah aside, and to everyone’s astonishment, the missing screw lay beneath it. As soon as the screw was picked up, the needle resumed its restless oscillation.

Another incident soon followed. One morning, the supervisor approached Ramiah with concern. “Sir, the ornate bell from the shop is missing.”

“Bring the employee in charge of that area here,” Ramiah said calmly.

When the employee was questioned, he replied firmly, “I know nothing about it, sir. I have not taken anything.”

When Ramiah placed the compass on the table facing the supervisor and the employee, the needle oscillated rapidly, then turned and pointed straight at the man and stopped.

Ramiah said softly, “Do you see this? The compass is pointing at you.”

“That means nothing! The supervisor is also standing with me,” the employee protested nervously.

Ramiah asked the employee to move to a corner, but did not change the position of the compass. The employee moved, and instantly the needle turned again and pointed at him.

Ramiah’s voice hardened. “Shall I call the police?”

The man’s face turned pale. “No, sir! I confess. I took the bell. I’m sorry.”

From these incidents, Ramiah concluded that the compass had a miraculous power to identify lost objects and expose falsehood.

He confided this secret to his close friend and former schoolmate, the postmaster.

“This is extraordinary,” the postmaster said in amazement. “But what good is it if the compass remains in your room, where only a few people come? “Let it stay on my table at the post office,” the postmaster said. “Hundreds of people visit daily. It could help many for free.”

Ramiah smiled. “You are right. Take it.”

Soon, its power became widely known. One day, a young girl cried, “Uncle, I’ve lost my anklet!” Another day, a boy said tearfully, “Sir, I’ve misplaced my exam hall ticket!” A worried farmer once pleaded, “My land deed is missing and without it, I am ruined.”

Each time, the compass led them to their lost belongings.

In the centre of Ramiah’s land stood a large mango tree that bore fruit abundantly each season. He gave most of the harvest to his servants, the nearby temple, and the municipal school, keeping only a small portion for his family.

In his old age, he called his sons and said, “My time is passing. I am handing over the business to you. Take good care.”

He built two identical bungalows on either side of the mango tree, one for each son, with the tree serving as a natural boundary.

One evening, Ramiah spoke to the postmaster. “I want my sons to continue giving the mangoes as I have done.”

“That is wise,” the postmaster said. “Why not leave written instructions for them? Send it to the post office. I will deliver at the appropriate time”

Ramiah agreed and wrote identical letters to both sons, instructing that after his death, 20% of the harvest be retained for personal use (including friends, relatives, and servants), and 40% each be donated to the temple and the municipal school.

He informed his sons about the arrangement and also spoke privately to the temple trustee and the school headmaster.

After Ramiah’s death, the sons approached the postmaster and made a deal with him for a consideration that the letters would not be delivered.

Soon afterwards, the postmaster suffered a stroke that left him paralysed and unable to speak. A young woman took charge of the post office.

When the mango season began, and the tree was awash with mangoes, the sons stopped the charitable distribution and began selling the mangoes for profit. When the temple trustee and the school authorities approached the sons, they denied any knowledge of any letter from their father.

When the temple trustee and school authorities approached and apprised the young postmaster, she said kindly, “I will do my best to help you.”

As she looked around the office, her eyes fell on the ancient brass compass. This must be the compass everyone talks about, she thought

She picked it up and said aloud, “If there are letters from Ramiah remaining undelivered here, please show me.”

The needle promptly moved and pointed toward an old steel trunk in the corner hidden behind a gunny sack

Inside the trunk, she found the undelivered letters. The police and the school’s lawyer were present when the trunk was opened in front of the two sons.

“These are your father’s letters,” the lawyer said firmly.

The sons looked stunned. “We… we did not know about these,” one said weakly. “We promise,” the other added quickly, “that we will follow our father’s instructions in full.”

Thus, truth prevailed, and Ramiah’s generosity lived on, guided even after his death by the mysterious brass compass.

 

The Satisfied Grin (753 words)

Suresh is a worried man now. His business, once thriving, was nose-diving with literally no orders in the books. He had built his business big, investing huge capital by borrowing from many sources. Till a couple of years back, Suresh got the lion's share of the orders from big customers. Lately, his rival, Kartik, has clinched all the deals. He undercut the prices to the bare minimum, making them unworkable for Suresh with his huge investment. Possibly, Maybe, Kartik greased the palms of the officials in charge of purchase at the customers’ end. With a lean and efficient staff, Kartik ensured prompt delivery of quality products. 

 The men and machinery at Suresh’s factory were all practically idle now, with mounting losses each month. It was clear to Suresh that Kartik was bent upon driving him away from the scene. The banks and lenders were on Suresh's heels as the huge debts were not regularly serviced. Even salaries to the staff and labour were delayed and paid in instalments. Suresh tried in vain to poach and bring Kartik’s key employees. There was no way Suresh could dislodge his competitor from the scene.

Outwardly, Suresh maintained cordial relations with his rival but was really seething in anger. He attended Kartik's daughter's marriage and gifted a large silver pot. None can discern any enmity between them.

Things became very bleak, and he had to find a permanent solution to this wretched problem or shut the business and go to jail for failure to pay the debts.

Blade Babu was surprised when Suresh arrived at his door early one morning. The prefix came from his early days as a pickpocket; now, he was a hardened criminal with a long record and a reputation as a contract killer who left no trace. “Good morning, Sir. I am honoured by your visit. You could have sent a word, and I would have come to your place,” he said.

“It is okay. In fact, I did not want you to be seen at my place as the matter is very delicate”

“I understand, Sir. Tell me what I can do for you. I am at your beck and call,” Babu said in an ingratiating tone.

“Thanks. My business is in doldrums because of Kartik. I hope you know my competitor.”

“Sure, Sir, I know him, though I have not interacted with him so far. He lives in Neelankarai in a palatial bungalow”

“Yes, the very same man. I pleaded with him that both could share the business equally without undercutting each other. Besides arrogantly refusing, he has chosen to sell at loss-making rates only to eliminate me from the business. All my efforts to reason with him have failed,” Suresh said

“Oh, I am sorry. Why wouldn’t he amicably work with you is beyond me. In what way, can I help you?” he asked

“I want a permanent end to the problem. Money does not matter. You are talented in this area.” Suresh said in an almost inaudible voice.

“I understand. He is a rich man and must have clout. But I have also handled such people. It would cost much as there is risk,” Babu said equally softly

“How much?”

“25 lakhs”

Suresh opened his leather bag and handed over bundles of notes. “Here are 20 lakhs. I will pay you the balance after the job is done” he said

“Pay me the full amount. I do not want you or your man to meet me afterwards. “Babu said

Suresh paid the balance without demur and asked, “When will this be done?”

“Anytime within two days. Please do not contact me on any score. Have some buttermilk before you go. I will keep the money inside and come in a minute,” Babu said

“Thanks. I will wait for you,” Suresh said happily, sipping the buttermilk from the glass. There was a wry smile on his face at the thought that the job was done so easily.

As he sat with his eyes closed, thinking of the likely jump in business, the smile faded as he felt slightly giddy. Simultaneously, he became aware of a metal pressing the rear of his head. He faintly heard someone saying, “K Sir... Luckily, the guy himself has come here, and the matter is being settled to your satisfaction.”

 Before he could turn in panic, he saw a million stars exploding and a brilliant light shining. All was quiet thereafter, even as a satisfied grin spread over Blade Babu’s face at the double windfall.

The Unconditional Love (1033 words)

Malavika walked slowly on the familiar pathway leading to the house where she had lived for over two decades. But the garden looked now uncared for, with bushes and weeds all around. It had not been swept clean of the fallen leaves for days together. It looked different when she lived here, with flower plants and dahlias in plenty and green shrubs all around. It had been more than ten years since she had visited this place.

She was the only child of her parents. She was more of a mama’s child, loving her mom, Geeta, most. Her dad was on tour for ten days a month, and the other days he was absorbed in his work. He quarrelled frequently with her mom, mostly on flimsy grounds, though she loved him very much. Abrasive and short-tempered as he was, Malavika could not recollect any occasion on which he heartily laughed.

Malavika remembers her mom telling her once, when she was in her teens, how he reacted at her birth because she was a girl, showing his irritability and disappointment in the presence of nurses.

She doesn’t remember a single occasion where he had lifted her in his arms, though as a child she frequently snuggled by his legs, hoping to be hoisted up. Her mom used to console her, saying that her dad, Purush, was not the demonstrative type but had affection deep inside his heart for her. Malavika never believed her on this one point.

Geeta had a sudden stroke when she was barely forty-five. Her dad was three years older than her. She didn’t live long after that. In a few months, she passed away. Malavika was just seventeen. Her dad put her in a hostel till she finished her education and found a job. She did not visit her dad frequently, except on long vacations or when the hostel was closed, and even then, she would be sent to her aunt’s house when he went on tour. There was no bond of affection between them.

She loved a colleague, and when she confided in Purush, he showed no interest or expressed his view. Malavika married him soon after she got a job. Though invited to her wedding, he did not attend, pleading pressing official work away in a faraway city.

It was a great shock to learn a year later from her aunt that her father had married someone without even telling her. It hurt her most that he did not consider it necessary even to inform her. She was also never invited to the home thereafter, nor did she go. There was practically no communication except when Malavika informed him about the birth of a baby girl. Purush neither visited her nor greeted her.

Years had passed by without any contact. It was a week ago that she heard from her old aunt that her dad had fallen sick and was also struggling financially. It appeared rather ironic that he had two young daughters from his second wife. Except for the house that was under mortgage for a loan, it seemed that he did not have much wealth or a good income. Malavika thought of her mom and wondered what she would have wished her to do in the circumstances.

With a heavy heart, she walked up the steps to his house and pressed the bell. She saw the curtain of the window being moved slightly, and a lady’s face appeared for a fraction of a second. She waited and again saw some movement behind the curtain. The faces of two cute girls appeared but did not disappear. They smiled at her, and Malavika returned it with a big smile.

The door opened slightly, and her father peeped out. When Purush saw her, he stepped out and stared at her silently for what seemed like a long moment. His face showed surprise, hesitation, and something she could not quite read.

Unable to bear the silence, she said, “Daddy, I am Malavika. It has been nearly ten years since we last met.”

“Yes… I know,” he said slowly. “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you here after so long?” His voice was tired, not harsh, but guarded.

“Saroj aunty told me that you were not well and have been confined to bed for some time. I wanted to see you. You look weak… I hope you are feeling better. What is troubling you?” she asked, even as she noticed the lady and children watching from behind the curtain.

He did not invite her inside. After a pause, he said, “Life hasn’t been kind these days. But… It’s nothing for you to worry about. You have your own world now.” There was a trace of bitterness, but also weariness in his tone.

She hesitated, then said softly, “You are still my father.”

He looked away. “You left long ago, Malavika. I didn’t know if you still wanted to remember me.” His voice trembled slightly, though he tried to control it. “I thought… You have moved on.”

“I never stopped caring,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

He sighed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I have a family now, responsibilities… and not much left.” He paused. “I didn’t know how to bridge the distance between us.”

The silence between them became unbearable. Malavika wiped her tears, nodded, and turned back slowly.

As she walked away, she heard the door close, not slammed, but shut with quiet finality.

She stopped by her car, opened her purse, took out an envelope she had brought, and dropped it into the post box fixed by the side of the door. Then she walked back and drove away without looking back.

A few minutes later, the door opened again. The man, his wife, and the two girls stepped out. He noticed an envelope protruding from the box. He took it out and opened it with trembling hands.

Inside was an account-payee cheque drawn in his name, for rupees ten lakhs.

He stood frozen, his eyes moist, realising for the first time the depth of Malavika’s love, silent and enduring, for him, which he had failed to recognise.

He decided to get Malavika's phone number and address from Saroj aunt.

The Unpolished Gem (1050 words)

Selvi lived in a dingy Housing Board flat meant for low-income families. When her husband was alive, he had managed to secure it on rent. Over the years, the building had deteriorated badly due to poor maintenance and the indifference of its occupants. It was a dreary place where poverty showed in every cracked wall and dark corridor.

She lived there with her three daughters and her youngest, a six-year-old son. The eldest was fourteen. All four children attended the corporation school a little away. Life had become one of constant struggle after her husband died suddenly in an accident.

Selvi worked all day in a large white bungalow nearby, helping with every household chore, including cooking. It was exhausting work, but she preferred this house because it was close to her home and paid well, what she would otherwise have earned working in two or three houses. The only drawback was the landlady, Kokila, a perfectionist and strict taskmaster who tolerated nothing careless or incomplete.

Selvi laboured hard to please her, but Kokila was never easily satisfied. While Selvi swept or mopped, Kokila stood beside her, ensuring every piece of furniture was moved and every corner cleaned. At the end of the day, she inspected the washed clothes for any stains and scolded Selvi for the smallest oversight. She never spoke kindly, always remaining formal and distant. Though she knew Selvi’s poor circumstances, apart from giving new clothes to the family during Deepavali and Pongal, she never offered anything extra. She appeared cold and heartless, devoid of compassion.

One day, Kokila entered the kitchen and found Selvi lying unconscious on the floor, the milk boiling over on the stove. Furious at first, she nudged Selvi sharply. When Selvi did not respond, Kokila grew alarmed and sprinkled water on her face. Only then did she learn that Selvi had not eaten for two days, and whatever leftovers she was allowed to take home were barely enough for her children.

Yet Kokila showed no sign of sympathy. She said brusquely, “Be alert. I don’t want a fire accident due to your carelessness. There’s no point in giving everything to your children. Since you are working, you must also eat. Anyway, take some rice and sambar and eat,” and left the room.

Selvi was deeply hurt by her harsh tone and did not feel like eating in that house. But she forced herself to, to avoid the dizziness that had caused her to faint.

The next day, when Selvi returned home, she found a large bag placed at her doorstep. She called her daughter and asked who had brought it. The girl said that an old man had left it there, saying it was meant for their house. Curious, Selvi opened the bag. It contained enough rice, pulses, oil, and other essentials to last the family for a week. She was stunned by this unexpected blessing at a time when there was not a grain in her kitchen.

 She hesitated, wondering whether to wait and discover who had left it or feed her hungry children. Her motherly instincts prevailed. She cooked a hearty meal, and her children ate with delight.

Meanwhile, Kokila continued to extract every ounce of work from Selvi, making her resent her deeply. Selvi never asked for money or help; she only longed for a kind word or a little appreciation. Several times, she thought of quitting the job, but the fear of worse alternatives held her back.

When the same bag of provisions appeared at her door the following week, Selvi lost her temper. She called her eldest daughter and shouted, “I don’t want to hear any lies. Tell me who brings this bag every week! Do you have a boyfriend? Do you talk to any man in this block?”

The girl burst into tears. “Amma, I swear I don’t know who brought this bag. I have no boyfriend, and I don’t talk to anyone. How could you suspect me like this?”

Selvi was not convinced. “Who would leave provisions worth hundreds of rupees without expecting something in return? You don’t want to see your siblings starving, and you’ve been tempted into wrong ways to get this!” she accused unreasonably.

The girl cried louder. Ashamed but determined to uncover the truth, Selvi decided to wait and see for herself. The next week, she hid behind the door at dusk. Soon, an old man arrived, left the bag, and turned to go. Selvi rushed out and stopped him.

“Why do you leave this bag here every week? Who asked you to do this?” she demanded.

He replied, “Madam, I don’t know the details. I work at Shanmugam Stores. The owner instructed me to leave this bag here every week at this time.”

Still unsatisfied, Selvi asked him to take the bag back if he could not tell her who had arranged it. He hesitated, then said softly, “I am not supposed to reveal this, but from what I heard, the lady of the white bungalow instructed the shop owner to send these provisions regularly and bill her.”

Selvi stood speechless. The woman she had believed to be heartless was, in fact, her silent benefactor.

The next day, Selvi entered the bungalow, eager to thank her. But Kokila stood at the door, anger flashing in her eyes.

“Do you know what time it is?” she snapped. “You are supposed to be here by 7 a.m. It is already 7:10. I cannot tolerate such irresponsible behaviour. I will not listen to your excuses,” she said.

Selvi felt no anger. Instead, she fell at Kokila’s feet and pleaded, wiping her eyes with her sari, “Excuse me, Amma. This will never happen again.” 

 “What is all this drama?” Kokila asked, her voice softening slightly.

Selvi did not reply. She only smiled to herself, knowing now that beneath that rough exterior lay a golden heart.

To her great surprise, Kokila lifted her and hugged her tightly. “Do not worry,” she said gently, “You are part of my family. I will take care of your children’s education. Please find a good school nearby. The present one is too far. I will have the outhouse readied for you soon. You will save on rent.”

Tears filled Selvi’s eyes, not from sorrow this time, but from gratitude.

 

The secret behind the lost pendrive (733 words)

Raghuvir was frantically searching for the pen drive that contained important data. He had kept it on the table, he was sure. His wife, Isha, was arranging things as the cleaners were expected that day. Could it be that she had placed it safely somewhere? She had gone to the office early as there was an important meeting. He rummaged through the drawers of the table but could not locate it. What if it had fallen in the dustbin or thrown by mistake, he wondered.

He took the dustbin from under the table and emptied the contents on the floor. The pen drive was not there. As he was putting back the contents into the bin, he found a crumpled and faded blue-coloured paper. It looked very old. Impelled by curiosity, he opened it. It was a letter torn twice into four parts and thrown in the bin after crumpling it. It was not his, he was certain. He sat on the floor and arranged it in order after flattening the pieces. It was a letter dated eight years back addressed to Isha from one Manish. Raghuvir had not heard Isha telling him of any Manish. There was no relative of hers with such a name. Wanting to know more, he pressed the papers with an iron box to remove the creases. He could now read easily.

Dearest Isha,

This is perhaps my last letter to you, for I would not like to intrude anymore in your happy married life. I would be gone to an unknown place, carrying with me the fond memories of you and the happy times we had together. It was my entire fault, and on an impulse and in utter foolishness, I had misappropriated the bank's money temporarily to buy a costly gift for you, but was caught before I could replace it as I had planned. Although I had paid the bank the money, I lost my job and had to spend one year in jail. It was my blind love for you and the eagerness to get you the diamond pendant you looked at longingly when we were in a mall that made me commit the unpardonable mistake. It was not the loss of a job or the incarceration or my reputation in tatters that affected me, but the loss of you was unbearable. I could not hold you responsible in the circumstances for your decision to move away and marry one whom your parents had chosen. I also knew the reason for your urgency.

Forgive me. I want you to live happily and erase my memories, though it would be difficult for you when you see your daughter. I came to know you gave birth to a girl soon after marriage. Tear this letter. I have torn all yours but unable to erase you from my heart.

Love

Manish

Raghuvir could not believe what he read. He was shaken beyond words at the unexpected revelation of his wife’s past. Yes, his daughter Monica was a premature baby, and at least that was what he was told. Come to think of it, Monica has not taken after her dusky mom or her dad, as the girl was very fair. She had a sharp, aquiline nose, unlike his bulbous, flat nose. Be that as it may, Raghuvir wished she were at least open. But, on second thought, he realised who would reveal when unsure of how the spouse would react? But her love for him was unstinted, real and beyond question. Why rake up buried things and make life miserable for both him and his adorable, loving daughter, Monica? What good it would bring, he thought as he lay in the bed for a long time.

The phone rang. It was Isha informing that she is driving back home. He was clear in his mind now. He hurriedly took the letter and burnt it along with the secret it contained. He emptied the contents of the dustbin into the container on the road. He found a new comfort in his action and luckily saw his pen drive protruding from the pillow on the bed. He went to the kitchen, whistling a tune to make coffee for her.

When Isha entered the house a few minutes later, the aroma of fresh coffee greeted her, and Raghuvir did too, just as he always did, with warmth and without questions.